


Milk&Sugar

by guilt_is_for_mortals



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Tim Stoker, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, University Student Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23190607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guilt_is_for_mortals/pseuds/guilt_is_for_mortals
Summary: “Milk and a dash of sugar, right?”“N-No…? Sorry, but… why would you know how I like my coffee?”“Well... I don’t. But it would have been very smooth if I was right, wouldn’t it?”---Tim tries to find out how Martin likes his coffee.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 97





	Milk&Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> With everything going wrong out there in the real world right now,  
> I thought we all could do with some tooth-rotting fluff.
> 
> The biggest THANK YOU goes out to Ostentenacity for beta-reading this!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The world around Tim was slow and grey, and looked as tired as he felt. It was a dull Monday morning, too early for all of the college students who were the tiny coffee shop’s main customers to drop in on their way to class. The only sounds disturbing the silence were the occasional beeps of the coffee machine behind him and the low humming of the case full of donuts, muffins, and cakes. Tim was so used to them that he only heard the sounds when he concentrated on them. They were monotonous and carried no melody, and maybe Tim’s eyes closed for longer than they should. Maybe he was about to fall asleep when the ringing of the tiny bell above the door made him shriek awake, almost dropping the cup he’d forgotten he was holding.

In came a man whose presence was so bright he seemed to light up the whole shop. He wasn’t loud or even really smiling, but there was something about him, from his freckled face, the reddish blonde hair, the hideously patterned jumper, down to the book tucked under his arm. Something so nice and light and _beautiful_ that for a moment Tim forgot how to breathe. Before the guy could even say anything, Tim, acting without his brain’s approval, had already picked a clean cup from a stack. With his most convincing smile he looked into the other's light blue eyes while reaching for the coffee pot.

“Milk and a dash of sugar, right?” He watched the man’s face go through several emotions, from wonder, to confusion, to a tiny smile on very pink, plush looking lips. 

“N-No…? Sorry, but… why would you know how I like my coffee?” He seemed so terribly confused about the situation, furrowing his brow in a way that had Tim biting his lower lip to avoid letting out a sound he would regret making. 

“Well...” He racked his brains to think of a good reply, then grinned. “I don’t. But it would have been very smooth if I was right, wouldn’t it?” He added such an exaggerated wink that the man started to laugh, visibly relaxing and shining like a sunbeam through a foggy winter’s morning.

“It sure would.” The man hesitated for a moment, eyes flickering over the board behind Tim that listed all the coffee creations available. “Why don’t you surprise me with something instead? And I’ll tell you if I like it then?” 

Tim was surprised by this request, but caught himself after only a second, grin back on his lips, sparkle back in his eyes. “Sure thing! You won’t regret this, I promise!” 

He wondered for a moment what kind of coffee the stranger would be most likely to enjoy. And as his thoughts continued to circle around just how sweet the customer had looked in total confusion, Tim started to make one of the sweeter, creamier coffee creations the shop had to offer.

“Here you go!” He presented the man with a huge yellow cup full of caramel coffee with a lot of milk foam and caramel sauce drizzle on top. Their fingers brushed together for a moment when the stranger took the cup from his hands, and Tim watched as he lifted it towards his lovely lips to take a sip.

“That’s… very lovely, though not quite _it.”_ He laughed at Tim’s disappointed look, licking his lips to get rid of some of the milk left there, and Tim could feel his cheeks growing hot. Did this man know what he was doing to him? They looked into each other's eyes for a moment when the door abruptly swung open again, and two chattering students entered. Tim knew them quite well; they stopped by almost every day.

“Well, I need to go now, lecture is about to start, but… maybe try again tomorrow?” The man indicated the cup, smiled at Tim with a faint blush on his cheeks, and then turned around to leave. Tim didn’t have the time to stare after him for too long, now that the regulars seemed to be awake and demanding their daily dose of caffeine. But ever so often, for the rest of the day, his thoughts drifted back towards the stranger, and how much he wanted to kiss milk foam off of his lips. 

\---

Martin found himself returning to the coffee shop every day, like a moth drawn towards the light that would end up burning it. The barista — who, as he had eventually found out, was called Tim — was incredibly handsome, had a smile that could blind you and a voice so warm and nice it could melt your heart. There was no way that he was seriously interested in someone like Martin. 

Still, for reasons Martin didn’t yet understand, Tim seemed to have taken an interest in finding out the exact way in which Martin liked his coffee and Martin was too weak to just tell him and end this game. It felt too good, having Tim’s attention on him: that curious, hopeful look as Martin tried the latest creation, day after day. Martin had been sure that Tim’s interest would wane, that he would stop trying after a while. He did not. If anything, he upped his game, coming up with something new every day. And Martin found himself looking forward to the next ridiculously sweet drink, the next opportunity to meet the man who was gradually stealing his heart. 

Every day Martin told Tim that it was just not quite how he preferred his coffee. He once said that he could just tell Tim, but Tim had seemed outright offended. 

“I won’t give up that easily, Martin. I’ll find your perfect coffee.” Martin dared to dream that he really meant it. That it wasn’t just out of boredom, out of soon-to-fade curiosity. And if it _was_ just that… Martin decided to not tell Tim if he ever got it right. To not end the game, because it would also mean Tim losing interest in him. He would become just another regular customer, just another face in the crowd. There was this fear, slumbering deep inside of him, that one day it all would end. Maybe even today— 

“Good morning! I have just the perfect drink for you, as sweet as you are, dear Martin.” Another day, another moment of his heart jumping in his chest, of the warm, fluttering feeling when Tim looked at him _like that._

“Good morning, Tim.” Oh how Martin hoped Tim would think that the blush on his cheeks was caused by the cold wind outside, rather than by Tim’s million dollar smile. 

“I’ve got something special for you — I’ve tried to make this nice latte art, see, it’s… oh, well, it was supposed to be a flower, but it’s just…”

“It’s lovely.” Tim looked at him, brows furrowed in mild confusion, and Martin’s face burned. “I—I mean yes, that’s mostly… good, but I… I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it in no time.” _You’re the moth, Martin_ , he tried to remind himself. _You’re the moth flying directly and with suicidal intention into the hot, bright lamp in front of you._ The smile Tim gave him was worth being burned to ashes, though. 

\---

“Oh wow, you look like shit.” Tim turned around to face Melanie, who shared today’s shift with him. He’d known her for a long time and didn’t take it to heart, but he also knew that he wasn't his usual charming self today. Nightmares had haunted his sleep. He had tossed and turned all night, and he felt so exhausted he was thinking about asking one of the med students to directly inject the caffeine into his veins. 

“Thanks, Melanie, you look great, too.” With one hand he tried to fix his hair, checking his reflection on the gleaming silver coffee machine. Suppressing yet another yawn, he decided it wouldn’t get any better than this today.

“Oh, already waiting for your crush to arrive?” Melanie put her hands under the faucet and, before he could stop her, she stuck her hands in his hair and tried to fix it a little.

“I am not— ah, okay, well, maybe I am. I’ve been getting so good at the latte art, and I’ve tried all the craziest combinations, but I still haven't found just the right mix for Martin… It's like a curse. I feel like if I find _his_ coffee he’ll lose interest in me? And I have no idea what I’m going to do today… all my brain can think of is _strong black coffee as dark as my soul,_ but that’s probably just what I would want, not Martin. He likes his drinks as sweet—”

“—as sweet as he is, yeah.” Melanie rolled her eyes, but not without a fond smile on her lips. 

“I am sure he won’t mind if you don’t have a latte art sweet flavour creation for him today. He seemed like a nice guy, so he’ll probably understand? Maybe just… give him your number with it? That’ll sweeten the whole thing.” Tim knows that Melanie only wants the best for him. And if it had been any other guy or girl that had interested him, he would have probably asked for a date the second time they would have come into the shop. Not with Martin, though. He had a feeling that if he went too fast, Martin would run and not come back. 

To Tim’s own astonishment, it didn’t bother him. He was okay with standing behind a counter, thinking of ridiculously sweet new recipes for Martin and admiring him from afar, if that only meant that Martin came back every day. He wondered _why_ Martin was so important to him. Something about him was different and made Tim feel like this was more than just an ordinary crush. 

“Oh my… you’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?” Melanie had probably seen his face go through several emotions and tints of red in the last minute. “It’s been over a week and he always comes back to you, Tim. Ask him out. I’m sure he’ll say yes.” With that, Melanie disappeared into the back room just as the door bell announced the arrival of— of Martin. As soon as he saw Tim standing there, worry showed in his cornflower eyes.

“Good morning — are you okay?” Tim didn’t even get the chance to try and act normal, huh? Though it felt good to know that Martin apparently knew him well enough to see that he wasn’t fine. 

“I, ugh… I am... I’m sorry Martin, I tossed and turned all night, I’m barely awake… I have no ideas for a coffee today.” His shoulders dropped as he admitted defeat. Surely this was the end of their whole game, right? Martin would never return and—

“Just give it to me black, then. Make a real strong one, one cup for yourself and one for me.” Tim blinked at him, once, twice. 

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Martin’s face was hard to read. There still was some worry in his eyes, but a smile on his soft-looking lips and Tim might just spend the entire time it took him to make two strong coffees fantasizing over Martin’s lips. _Like a creep,_ he reminded himself. Martin was a customer, and a… a friend? He shouldn’t be thinking like that. But his treacherous brain didn’t stop. 

“Here you go, coffee as black as my soul, and strong enough to make your spoon stand in the cup. The Tim Stoker Special.” He handed Martin the cup, a second too late to realize that — in Melanie's handwriting — his number was written across the side. Well… it was too late to take that back now, wasn’t it? And he had other things to worry about, like if Martin would absolutely hate the coffee, black and bitter and—

He watched in awe and confusion as Martin took a big sip of his drink, sighing quietly and then almost entirely emptying the cup in one chug.

“Perfect,” he answered with a smile. It was one of the rare moments they actually looked each other directly in the eye, one moment of them just staring at each other. Then Martin started to laugh, clear and happy, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly. 

“You should see your face, Tim.”

“B—But… I thought you liked your coffee… _sweet?”_ Tim stared at Martin in utter disbelief.

“I do like sweet coffee, but I prefer it— how did you put that? _As black as your soul?_ Which I doubt to be true, by the way. I’m sure the color of your soul matches more with that vanilla latte you’ve given me last Tuesday.” And then he actually winked at Tim, whose heart and thoughts were still racing. Martin enjoyed black coffee. He wasn’t disappointed, no— in his tired haze, sleepless night still sitting deep in his bones, Tim had found Martin’s special coffee. And that also meant that, even though Tim had given him a week full of too-sweet, sugary drinks, he had still come back. Tim hadn’t even been anywhere close to figuring it out, but still, Martin had come here every day and humored Tim. Played along in the game. 

“Well, I gotta hurry, important seminar, but... “ Martins gaze dropped down onto the paper cup in his hand, another smile playing around his lips, “but I’m sure we’ll see each other soon enough.” 

\---

Martin couldn’t help but text Tim that evening. He had, of course, spent the entirety of the day trying to think of the perfect message to send. He’d deleted it and rewritten it again and again, and finally sent:

**_Hello, this is Martin :) I hope you’ll sleep better tonight. Sweet dreams and see you tomorrow._ **

Then he lay back into the cushions and stared at the ceiling, thinking about Tim. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling like an idiot. At first he’d been convinced that this was all a game for Tim and that he just liked to flirt a little, a wink here, a compliment there. Martin knew people like that, and they never really meant any of their behaviour. 

But today had changed things, hadn’t it? Tim really had been feeling bad just because he couldn’t think of some special drink for Martin. He seemed to have had a terrible night, he’d looked exhausted, and yet… he had thought about Martin. He had given him his number. 

That thought alone was enough to send another wave of butterflies flying through Martin's stomach and making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Tim had given him his phone number. That must at least mean that there was _something_ there for him, too, right?

\---

For a week, everything was perfect. They met every day at the coffee shop, sometimes even taking a few minutes to talk if it wasn’t too busy. In the evenings they texted. Tim even sent Martin a selfie once, and it took all the strength Martin had not to set it as his phone’s wallpaper. He did send one back, though, trying to look extra cute and use an angle that made him look nice. It still baffled him that, of all the people he met all day, Tim had decided that he, Martin Blackwood, was worth his attention. 

Sadly, Martins life doen’t always go as smoothly as he wants it to. It was a late Saturday night and Martin’s assignment — a creative writing poetry project — was still only about half finished. He hadn’t slept last night, too absorbed in trying to find the right words, the right rhymes, to find the means to say what he wanted. The words fled from his mind and left him staring at a blinking cursor for hours. Time was passing by, minutes stretching into impossible lengths, hours gone in the blink of an eye.

He was barely awake and about to cry when, without really thinking, he stood up, just barely remembering to bring a cardigan, and walked out the door, notebook under his arm. There were no words left in his apartment, so maybe a change of scenery would be nice. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when he ended up in front of the tiny coffee shop Tim worked in. 

“Martin, what are you— are you okay?” The concerned tone in his nice voice made Martin think of how tired he must look. Had he even changed into a pair of jeans today? No, he was still wearing sweatpants. Great impression, Martin. Sweatpants, T-shirt and cardigan. Could you scream _barely functional university student_ a bit louder? 

“Coffee?” was all he could manage at the moment, a pleading look on his face.

“As black as my soul,” Tim answered with a nod and leaped into action, making them both a very strong cup. He looked tired himself, Martin noticed. It was late, almost midnight, and the store was empty but the two of them. He sat down and a minute or two later Tim presented him with a gigantic yellow mug full of that magic bean juice. 

“What are you doing up so late? I’ve never seen you around this time of day.” Tim watched him with growing worry on his pretty face, Martin wanted to raise his hands and use his fingers to flatten the frown, the lines on his forehead. 

“I… have an assignment due to tomorrow and I can’t… get it right?” 

  
“Oh. “ He paused for a moment. “You’ve never even told me what you’re studying.”   
  


“I mean… we don’t talk _that_ much.”   
  
“We could, though?” Tims cheeks turned red, a lovely colour on him, and he hastily added, “What's the assignment about? Maybe I can help?” Tim took a big sip of his coffee and smiled at Martin with such an honest eagerness to help that Martin couldn’t help but grin through his sleepiness, feeling a bit more awake.

“Well, if you’re as good at poetry as in judging other people’s coffee preferences…?”  
  


“Hey, come on, you could’ve given me a hint!” 

“I could’ve but then you would’ve stopped? And I thought it was… cute.” 

“Oh.” Tim’s cheeks started to burn, the blush from before returning with added intensity and Martin felt his own face flush at this confession.

“Yeah.” 

\---

It took Tim about five minutes and his best puppy eyes to get Martin to show him the poem he was working on. It might have been a bit _wobbly_ here and there — “A very insightful observation, thank you, Tim” — but it was sweet, and about being in love, and if Tim hadn’t already fallen for Martin Blackwood completely, there was no way out of it now. Watching him recite his own poetry while pretty, sleep deprived, and slightly high on caffeine was the best and _sexiest_ thing Tim had ever seen. He stumbled over a word or two here and there, and when he started to giggle Tim joined in. At one point they just sat there, laughing so hard they ended up gasping for air.

“Martin, you need to… stop that, or I’ll actually fall in love with you,” Tim said without thinking too much about it, his brain too tired and happy to truly grasp what he had just said. Martin, though, stilled in his recitation and became very quiet for a long moment.

“So… if I _wanted_ that to happen… I’ll just keep going?” Tim suddenly realized what he had said, and what Martin was implying. He opened his mouth to say something, to break through the tension, but then he decided to not say a word. Looking into Martin’s eyes, biting his lower lip, he just nodded. Cat was out the box anyway, now. Martin held his gaze for a moment, a tiny smile playing around his mouth — and then he lifted his notebook again and continued reading. 

Tim’s heart beat so hard against his chest that it almost hurt. He might have worried about it breaking through his ribcage if he weren’t too busy with the realization that Martin wanted him to fall in love. He just sat there, across the tiny table between them, eyes on his notes and a smile on his lips. Tim slowly raised both his hands, placing them over Martin’s. He didn’t pull them away, didn’t even flinch at the touch. Tim closed the notebook between them, eyes glued to Martin’s face, looking for any sign that he might be moving too fast, that he had read the signs wrong. When nothing of the sort happened, when Martin, a bit nervously, licked his lips, Tim closed his hands around Martin’s.

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes.” The words came out a little too fast, and Martin blushed furiously, but Tim had already leaned over the table and pressed his lips against Martin’s plush, pink ones — and knocked over the still half-full cup of coffee, drenching both of them. 

When they parted, both grinning sheepishly, Tim decided this had to have been the best kiss he’d ever had. Martin tried to rescue his notebook from the flood of coffee and Tim ran off to the counter to fetch a towel. 

\--- 

“Well…” Martin gave Tim a look up and down, over his coffee stained shirt, his own t-shirt clinging wet and cold to his skin. 

“I—I don’t know how far you’ve got to get home, but… I live only a block down and… if you want to borrow a clean jumper?” In a moment of boldness Martin took both of Tim’s hands back into his own, rose to his tiptoes and pressed a kiss right next to Tim’s mouth. “I don’t really want this evening to end just now,” he added, blushing profusely but with the biggest smile. Tim just stared at him for a second, before gently squishing Martin’s hands and nodding, kissing Martin again, this time undisturbed.

“Me neither.” 

\---

The next morning was the first time Martin made coffee for Tim. Or he tried to, at least, between soft kisses and being pressed against the wooden counter of his tiny kitchen. They had fallen asleep on the couch, cuddled up against each other, both too tired to do anything other than kiss. Today was different. Martin let out a happy sigh as Tim just _picked him up off the ground_ to sit him on the counter, kissing him passionately. 

“Hmm, Tim, I’m… didn’t you want… breakfast?” He whispered against the others mouth with a smile. 

“You’re breakfast.”

Well. Martin wouldn’t say no to that. 


End file.
